Page 52 of Viral Justice

The leader of the gunmen lifted his rifle and shot the local spokesman.

A woman screamed and everyone started shooting at everyone else.

Ali kept her gaze on the leader of the gunmen as he ducked behind the well for cover. He was the worst kind of coward, the kind that attacked the weak so he could feel powerful.

That one needed to die.

As shots and return fire turned the area into a scene that could have come straight out of a spaghetti Western, Ali narrowed her focus on her target. The sounds, shouts and movement around her disappeared as she mentally placed herself into a pocket of calm resolve.

She assumed her crouched shooting position, aimed. When her target lifted his head to shoot, she squeezed the trigger.

His head snapped back and he crumpled to the ground.

Target down, she released her mind to take in the scene entirely again.

A bullet hit the stone wall a few inches above her head, raining debris down on her. She eased back from the corner of the house.

When she bumped into the boys, she urged them to back away as well. “We cannot stay here,” she said in Arabic. “Go, quick, quick.”

They just stared at her with wide and glassy eyes. Shock.

“Where is your mother?” she asked them.

The bigger one pointed at the well. “She’s lying on the ground over there.”

Shit, they’d probably witnessed their mother being murdered.

Several bullets hit the house, much too close to her and the kids.

Time to go.

“Come with me,” she said to them. “We’ll find somewhere safe.” She urged them to move away from the fight.

They blinked a couple of times, then scrabbled away, crouching as they ran. She followed, covering their backs with her own body. They made it past the next house, but shouting voices from the scene of the fight told her that they may not have gotten away cleanly.

Ali kept the boys moving with one hand while the other kept hold of her weapon. One of them tripped and fell, and she dropped her weapon to dangle by its strap so that she could grab him. She carried him a few feet before putting him down so he could run on his own again.

She glanced up as she moved to grab her rifle hanging underneath her poncho, and saw a man coming around the house in front of them, his rifle pointed right at her.

The boys froze and put their hands in the air. She followed their example. There was no way for her to get her rifle up before he could shoot her or one of the kids.

The man was one of the six from the well. One of the six looking for the Americans, and she didn’t think it was to ask for help.

“Who are you?” he asked in Arabic. “Answer me.” His shoulders were tense as was his grip on the rifle. He wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if he thought she was a threat.

“No one,” she answered, trying for a tone that might fit a teenaged boy. She nudged the children behind her, but that way wasn’t safe either. They had to get back to the hospital house to warn her team.

She moved toward him slowly. “Will you help us?” she asked, keeping the children pressed against her legs as she made to edge around him.

His shoulders relaxed the tiniest fraction and for a moment she thought he might let them go, but a second later, it was gone and the man’s face lost all emotion.

Decision made, he raised his weapon.

For the first time in her life, Ali fully released the protective warrior at her core. There could be no mercy for a man who’d murder children.

A shout to someone who wasn’t there past his shoulder distracted him. He automatically glanced behind to evaluate the threat.

She launched herself toward the ground, rolling, grabbing a handful of dirt and throwing it at his face as he realized no threat existed and turned back to shoot her.

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